


Aftermath

by MysteriouslyNotNamed0_0



Category: Epic Mickey (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol, Body Horror, Everyone Has Issues, Gen, I promise, Minor Character Death, No One Is Doing Well, Trauma, also kip briefly mentions a dead unnamed gf, but they're all gonna be alright, idk if that should go in the relationships tag, not terribly graphic but it's definitely there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:40:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25619014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MysteriouslyNotNamed0_0/pseuds/MysteriouslyNotNamed0_0
Summary: First of all, you're supposed to put your own mask on before helping those around you. Secondly, you should probably tell people to stop if they're upsetting you. Come on.This is mostly just a lot of thoughts about Prescott and Ostown and Kip in the semi-longterm aftermath of the whole disaster, wrapped up in a nice little oneshot and tied with a bow.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	Aftermath

Prescott was losing his entire mind. And he had been for a while now, to be quite honest, but he really did think he might lose it if one more person came in and told him about the Disaster.

See, the problem, he thought to himself, staring grimly at his hands; the problem wasn’t that he was traumatized. Because he was pretty sure he was either not there, or was certainly not allowed to admit he was there. He didn’t know which it was. He hadn’t experienced the thinner disaster itself; he’d been inside, it hadn’t reached his factory, but everything was so broken now and he couldn’t put a face to it since he hadn’t seen it happen. It was like waking up to find that you slept through a devastating earthquake, perfectly fine yourself, but surrounded by brokenness and everyone else’s pain.

That wasn’t the only reason he was putting so much time and effort into taking care of the pieces around him. It wasn’t just survivor guilt — which, he did admit, held water as a form of trauma, but he didn’t think he should be allowed to apply it to his experience. It was, truly, led by compassion, and by the simple fact that he was the only one around here who had the talent to put people back together again.

He couldn’t show how much he cared, because he was afraid of being vulnerable, especially now, and because it was so, so difficult not to fall apart if he let his guard down. When the first person stumbled into the factory dripping acid and ink, he’d been just as terrified as any of the people outside, and that held him together through the worst of it. He remembered the cold, energized feeling that had jolted through him in the space of a single breath, and the heavy weight of dread and dull panic that settled in his stomach as more and more people made their way to him. As he saw worse and worse injuries. As he pieced together what he could about what happened.

He didn’t help them just because he had to. He helped them because he really, truly cared for them, and he always had. As fellow toons who’d gone through what he had, as neighbors and friends. Even if it was hard for him to show it. So when they turned to him for help, he didn’t hesitate for a second.

Not one person died on his watch. A small handful from Ostown had, but it was a very small handful, and all of them had either died before Prescott found out what was happening, or were out of town at the time. 

Before the sun set that first day, Prescott’s factory was already cleared out and set up with beds and bandages and curtains, and half the town was in there. Prescott, after his initial terror had faded, and after he’d realized more than one person was hurt, became very efficient. Everyone was already flocking to him, because his factory was on the other side of town from where the wave had splashed down, and it was solid and inert and thus seemed to be safe from whatever acid had come in and melted all the paint it touched. Animatronic Goofy was almost entirely inert, and so assigned himself to running out and doing things like checking for survivors in the splash zone and helping to clear away the rags Prescott was using to clean out wounds. Someone went out and brought over food from their unharmed kitchen, and everyone settled in, and Prescott was able to run on empty for a long time like that. Assured that people were being cared for emotionally by each other, while he was caring for them by dealing with horrific wounds he didn’t entirely know what to do with. He could focus like that, knowing exactly what was needed from him, and giving it his best. Not worrying about the things that he couldn't do anything about, like how scared people were, or empathizing with those who had actually watched the disaster go down.

But he couldn’t separate himself from them entirely. He would be sitting next to some old dog, getting them drunk enough that he could deal with their leg without hurting them too much, and they’d just tell him about what had happened, over and over and over. More passionately each time, more dramatic by the minute, and Prescott was no expert but he supposed it was good for them to get it out, good for them to reframe it over and over until it made more sense and they could hold it in their minds without it hurting. But it really, really messed him up, and he didn’t want to admit it. He didn’t know how to handle his brain latching onto the image of this person watching their leg get burned through by green water that had just poured over the horizon without warning. He didn’t know how to handle his brain rolling it around over and over and over again, going through how it must have felt, how it must have smelled, every thought that might have gone through his head had he been the one sitting on a roof getting his leg suddenly melted off instead of this guy. He didn’t know what to do with all these thoughts, he didn't have anyone to throw them onto like everyone else was doing to him, nor did he feel like that was appropriate given his situation, so he just kept thinking them, and driving himself into a slow and general panic that just wasn’t going away.

The first night that he didn’t have people in his factory who needed him on hand all night, he went to go see Gus. Because he had finally pinned down one of the major points of anxiety inside of him right now, and needed that closure immediately.

Gus held him and held him and held him and reassured him that his loved ones, the few gremlins he actually truly loved, were safe, and that they would continue to be. He washed Prescott’s hands for him, and gave him clean gloves, and those two small acts sent Prescott right over the edge, though he tried not to show it. He just buried his face in Gus’s shoulder, and they both held each other, which was nicer than Prescott ever wanted to admit.

Gus was good. Gus didn’t share everything, didn’t describe anyone’s pain or slow deaths, didn’t frighten Prescott.  Which Prescott hated to think, since he couldn’t admit to himself that he was _scaring_ himself when he thought so hard that he stepped into someone else’s shoes.

But Prescott couldn’t stay with Gus forever. He had to go back, he had to tend to people, Goofy couldn’t do it all on his own, he needed to be there just in case. Had to be there in case it all happened again, and oh, was he aware that they couldn’t handle it if it happened again.

Gus gently brought him back down from that string of thoughts, back to thinking he had to go home just to give people something if they woke up hurting, had to go home as a touchstone, to remind himself it was still there. Prescott didn’t know how he did it, but wished he knew, so he could calm his own self down when this inevitably happened again.

Gus sent him home with rolls and rolls of clean bandages, and told him to come back as soon as he could, to come back and see Jamface and Markus, to see for himself that they were okay, too.

Prescott had dealt with so many bad thoughts since then that, he figured, it just had to stop eventually. It couldn't keep bothering him forever; eventually he had to get used to it, and it would stop hurting. But instead, as fresh injuries wound down, as people got used to their new animatronic pieces and to their new routine and stopped feeling a need to reiterate all of their pain to him every day, Prescott found out that for some reason, even the other gremlins had pegged him as a good receptacle for their own panic.

He had heard Kip yammer about his lost girlfriend a hundred times, and he was about to lose it. 

“Kip,” Prescott said, for the hundredth time today. He gently untangled Kip’s hands from his shirt, for the hundredth time, and pushed them down into Kip’s lap. “Relax.”

“I caa-han’t,” Kip moaned. He had been sobbing up until a few minutes ago, when Prescott gave in to temptation and scrounged up a bottle of wine for him from his medicine cabinet. Apparently, though, that excitement had worn off, because Kip’s eyes were brimming up with tears again. “She’s _gone_ and it’s all my _fau-hault_ —“

Prescott rolled his eyes, but didn’t push Kip away when he grabbed his hand again and didn’t let go. “It’s not your fault,” he said, for the hundredth time.

“I should’ve done _something_ ,” Kip insisted, his eyes glazing over. “I- I could’ve got there, I sh- I was s’posed to be doing my shift, I skived out early to get lunch, I should- I—“

Prescott reached over him and grabbed the bottle. Shoved it into Kip’s lap. “Drink,” he said.

Kip did. But it didn’t make him any less weepy. It did make him a little less coherent, though.

Prescott patted his hand. “You wanna go home now, Kip?” he suggested.

“What you think it felt like, Prescott?” Kip whispered, staring into space again. “When the thinner closed over her head?”

“Oh, Dahl, Kip, not again—“

“You think she felt it? Did it hurt? Oh,” Kip choked on his words, and took another sip from the bottle to cover it up. “Oh. How long did it hurt, how long did it take her to die?”

“Not this, Kip,” Prescott moaned. He had his eyes shut tight, and he pushed his shoulder against Kip’s childishly. “I hate when you do this part.” He hated when anyone did this part, but Kip happened to be on the same wavelength as him in terms of what sort of things went around his mind in relentless circles when he got upset, so it was extra incredibly worse than just listening to someone else's millionth account of the disaster from their own memory.

“What thoughts went through her head?” Kip continued as though Prescott hadn’t spoken. “Did she think of me? Oh, Dahl, how selfish is that?”

Prescott opened his eyes and stared longingly at his factory. “Kip, I hate this part, can’t you subject someone else to the abject horror of putting yourself in the shoes of your girlfriend’s death?”

“No,” Kip said. “You already think those thoughts, so it’s gotta be you.”

“I already think those thoughts, so you've gotta share them with someone else. Spread the joy.”

“Noooo,” Kip said. He drank a little more. “I don’t wanna _do_ that to someone.”

“You just know I can take it, huh,” Prescott sighed, although he absolutely could not take much more of this, and knew he had to anyways. No one else was going to, and besides, he hadn’t even been personally attacked during the disaster, so it shouldn't bother him. He’d just dealt with the aftermath. And this was part of the aftermath, this was just him helping out his friend Kip, he just had to let Kip talk everything out of his system, and both of them would feel better for it. 

Or, at least Kip would. That was the important part.

The problem was that he couldn’t just let it roll over him, not the way he could let the Ostown residents’ harmless yammering roll over him. They had mostly gotten over telling him about the disaster at this point, which made it easier. He could listen to Clarabelle talk for hours on end while he helped her package up pies for delivery, he could listen to Ezra list all his chores for the day, let Abner go on and on about what all he'd been thinking about this week. But Kip was a special kind of exhausting, because not only was he usually very chattery when he was struck all over again with grief over whoever he’d just remembered had died, but he was absolutely fixated on how every second of their death must have felt. And he had to chatter it out at Prescott until he was calm again, which, as a strategic tactic, was fine by Prescott, but in terms of Kip's chosen audience and subject matter, was absolutely not. Prescott already had to deal with his own brain throwing him into the shoes of half the nasty deaths and injuries he saw or heard about. He was already up nights imagining it endlessly. He’d probably lost more sleep over the disaster than Millicent had, and Millicent had almost died in it.

But he couldn’t just tell that to Kip.

Kip was slowly coming out of his staring haze. “You can take it...” he repeated softly. “No, I dunno if you even can.”

“I’m a tough gremlin,” Prescott deadpanned, not really into it right now.

“Ya, but you’ve been working crazy hours. Lookat you,” Kip said, and his eyes focused on Prescott’s. He smiled kindly and touched the side of Prescott’s face. “Lookat you, you haven’t slept in ages.”

“I’m busy,” Prescott snapped. “I’m the closest damned thing my town’s got to a doctor, and I’ve got a fortress. I'm taking care of everyone, and I'm doing a fine job of it, too.”

Kip nodded, still smiling. “That’s why you need your rest,” he explained. “You little, broken thing. Who’s going to doctor you back?”

Prescott begrudgingly liked the softness being showered on him so suddenly, but also couldn’t admit it. “You’re drunk, finally,” he said instead. “Ready to go home?”

“What’ll you do when I’m gone?” Kip asked, lowering his hand. “Keep working? Look at you.”

Prescott lowered his eyes to his stained gloves.

Kip eased himself closer and took Prescott’s hand, cradling it carefully between his own. “Whose ink is this?”

Prescott shrugged. It could be anyone's, at this point. Cloth had been hard to come by lately, so trading for clothing was slow going, and getting himself new gloves during grocery runs wasn't one of his priorities. His priority was getting food and supplies to everyone else in Ostown.

Kip clucked his tongue gently. "You can't go on like this," he said, his words just beginning to run together. "You know that."

"Yes I can," Prescott snapped. He jerked his hand out of Kip's. "I can go on forever. What's going to happen if I stop? People are going to die."

Kip stared at him, smiling sadly. "Oh, Prescott, no, they're not."

Prescott scrubbed at his face, trying to rub the exhaustion and emotions off. When it didn't work, he reached over Kip for the bottle again, shoved it back into his hands. "Drink."

Kip did, but it didn't change his stance on this. "You're allowed to take care of yourself," he said. "Even now."

"No I'm not." Prescott took the bottle from him and drank too much too fast. "Look who's talking," he said when he came up for air. "You took care of yourself, and now look what's happened. Your girlfriend died and you blame yourself. And you won't stop telling me about it, and I'm going to be thinking about it all night, so I won't even be able to sleep anyways. So don't tell me _I'm_ allowed to take care of myself, Kip." He pushed it back into Kip's hands. 

Kip tilted his head at him. "If you break," he said quietly, "who's going to take care of Ostown?"

Prescott rubbed at his face again, without any luck. His eyes were watering and he didn't want to think about why. "Right after the disaster, who did you think was taking care of Ostown? You all thought I was dead, and still no one came to take care of these people."

"I didn't think you were dead," Kip said.

Prescott pointed at him. "Keep drinking, until you stop saying sweet things at me. I don't deserve them. Were you just going to let the Ostown residents bleed out alone? Did you assume they could take care of--"

"You do deserve them," Kip said. He shifted closer to Prescott again and took his hand, tighter this time so he couldn't break free so quickly. "You've been so strong."

"Yuck."

"No, really, you have. You took care of Ostown so good that we didn't need to worry about it." He put his head on Prescott's shoulder, ignoring how stiff he immediately went. "You took a weight off all of our minds, taking care of it all alone. Very, very strong." His grip on Prescott's hand relaxed, and he rocked it gently in his cupped hands. "But no one can be strong forever, not even you. Who's going to take care of you?" he asked again, infinitely gentle, rolling his eyes up to look at Prescott's.

Prescott's eyes were watering again. He rubbed them hard with his free hand until he saw stars. "I don't know," he whispered. 

Kip blinked up at him innocently. "I'll take care of you," he offered.

"Not like this, you won't." Prescott smiled a wry smile at him and shoved him gently. "You're a mess. Let me take you home."

Kip didn't move. "No, no, that's still the wrong way around. You're taking care of too many people. S'your turn to be taken care of now."

"Maybe when you're sober again," Prescott suggested. He didn't really mean it, since he actually couldn't let himself slow down for even a minute, or things would fall apart again. But he could humor Kip until he was done. "Come on, then."

Kip shook his head and looked back down to their hands. "Mm-mm. Don't want you to be alone right now. Look at you." He lifted their hands to show Prescott. "Just look at yourself. All burns and ink."

"No worse than anyone else is." Prescott closed his other hand over Kip's and patted them gently. "Come on. I'll be fine. I promise."

They had to argue about it for a while, but Kip eventually agreed that Prescott could take him home if he would also just get himself something to eat and lay down for a few minutes before going back to Ostown. Prescott figured five minutes was not quite long enough for something terrible to happen, at least not while Kip was also promising to wake him up if something did happen. So he agreed begrudgingly, grabbed Kip by the arm, and disappeared him back to World of Gremlins.

**Author's Note:**

> ive been trying to cobble together all my Thoughts on prescott (and kip lol) for years now, so this was a little scattered, but it feels really good to finally get most of it out in one coherent piece!


End file.
